


In My Heaven There Is No God

by GwendolenFairfax



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Metaphors, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24431323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolenFairfax/pseuds/GwendolenFairfax
Summary: It’s not agreeable that Richard looks so beautiful. Till can’t endure it. So he deconstructs.
Relationships: Richard Kruspe & Till Lindemann, Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49





	In My Heaven There Is No God

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moon_waves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_waves/gifts).



> You wished for a fic as an ode [to this look](https://ghostlovesc0re.tumblr.com/post/618819766264659968). I'm not sure if this is what you imagined, but here it is and I hope you enjoy. <3

It’s not agreeable that Richard looks so beautiful. Till can’t endure it. So he deconstructs.

The heavy black boots Richard is wearing make him stand firmly and tall. They make him stride across the stage. Make him look strong and determined. So Till kneels, unlaces them and takes them off of him.

The black and red gloves that are enveloping Richard’s arms make them look slender. They make Richard tense his biceps against the fabric. Make him tilt his wrists gracefully. So Till slides his fingertips under the hems and peels them off of him.

The studded belts that are layered around Richard’s center make him tilt his hips to the side. They make him sway them when he walks. Make him look like he both doesn’t care and cares too much about what people think about this fashion statement. So Till unbuckles them one after the other and pulls them off his hips.

The black bootcut pants Richard is wearing make his ass look perfectly curved. They make him hollow his back. Make his chest look obscenely naked. So Till shoves them down his legs.

The boxer briefs and socks make Richard look vulnerable. They make him look shy. Make a promise that there is naked flesh underneath. So Till tears them off of him.

Richard is naked then.

Till pushes him onto the bed.

But still...

Maybe it’s the hair. That it looks so soft, but still points strictly upwards. Because Richard used gel and wax and spray and worked on it meticulously so that it looks exactly like this. Like he came to conquer a part of the world with his guitar. Like he is inviolable. So Till digs both hands into the hair and kneads and rumples.

Richard’s hair is a mess now.

Yet...

The black eyeliner and the eyeshadow... they make Richard’s eyes look insanely blue. Even right now while the pupils are wide and the iris is only a narrow ring. They make his gaze intense and unfathomable. Make him look like he is searching for something in Till’s soul that Till can’t give him. So Till thinks about licking the make-up off of him. But he is weak. He can’t take it away. He wants to see it smeared, wants to have a proof of blurred lines if Richard cries because of what he does.

Till looks at Richard who is lying on the bed in front of him.

He has leaned back on his elbows and has spread and bent his knees, feet flat on the mattress. He looks back at him with those blue, blue, wide eyes. They start to smile when his lips do. It’s a bold, dark, little smile. It makes him stick his chin out. It makes him look like he doesn’t even care if he cries. It makes him look so good.

And Till understands that in reality he has to deconstruct even further to make Richard look less beautiful.

So Till grips the reins and winds them firmly around his fists and takes Richard for a merciless ride through the night.

He urges Richard up a steep mountain path, hurriedly and ruthlessly, until they’ve almost reached the top. But then he slows the pace and steers him close to the edge of the chasm. So close their breathless gasps tumble over the rim. 

Till puts Richard to a slow gallop and holds him on their strict course, even closer to the abyss, so close they almost fall. They ride there for hours. When they get too close, Till pulls in the reins and makes Richard stop.

They’re both sweating, they’re both moaning. Richard’s body below Till trembles.

Richard starts cursing at Till when he makes him brake the second time. The third time he starts pleading. The fourth time a few drops of the hoped-for tears make their path through Richard’s make-up and he sobs.

But as soon as Till saddles up once more, Richard starts galloping again.

The night stretches like molasses, sweet and heavy.

In the blue hour, Till finally lets go off the reins and tells Richard to jump.

And Richard does without hesitation.

They both fall and hit the ground and shatter at the same time.

In the blue hour, Richard is lying next to Till, flanks covered in sweat, breathing heavily, face flushed, hair disheveled, lips bitten, eye make-up smeared. His eyes are closed and his smile is blissful. He nestles up to him. 

And Till can finally rest, because now he sees the truth. Richard doesn’t look beautiful, he is. Till is powerless against that, so he bows his head and accepts the inevitable. 

In Till’s heaven there is no god, because Richard exists.


End file.
